Cold Light of Day

by Anderson, Toni

  The tech pressed a button and Sarah sprang to life. She entered the fancy office, looked around for a moment, and headed toward the desk. She hitched up her skirts, revealing a pair of shapely legs in those spiky heels. He could just make out the edge of black lace. The atmosphere in the enclosed space got hot and tense as she dipped her fingers into those panties. He could only see lingerie, but it didn’t stop his imagination taking it a step further. Sweat burst out from his skin.

  He’d never suspected a thing.

  She’d been taking the lamp apart with deft dexterity while he’d been wondering if he should ask her out. He’d been played. The expression on her face when she saw the other bug was priceless, as was the realization as she glanced nervously around the room, that there might be a camera hidden somewhere. It made him feel a little better.

  “Shit. Here we go.” The tech pointed to the live screen. Four men entered the room and started picking up objects and examining them in detail.

  “It was only a matter of time,” Regan said with his arms crossed. He sounded pissed.

  In her video, Sarah reassembled everything, but Matt noticed something small catch the light as it dropped to the floor. “She lost her earring?”

  “That is why we don’t wear jewelry on an op.” Regan nodded. “They already found it.”

  This explained the henchmen taking the place apart.

  Matt watched the woman tuck the small plastic bag into her bodice with a lot more discretion this time. He hadn’t noticed her missing earring when he’d seen her afterward—too busy looking deep into her eyes. Asshole.

  There was a knock on the door. Jon Regan went over and opened it. Assistant Special Agent in Charge Lincoln Frazer walked in wearing a tailored tux. He must have left the White House shortly after Matt.

  “I’m starting to feel under-dressed,” Regan said dryly. To the tech he said, “Play it again.”

  This time when Matt watched the video, he kept an eye on her facial expression, on her body language. “She’s not acting like a pro.”

  Frazer leaned back on his heels, considering her. “More like she’s being forced to do something she doesn’t want to do. Why were you bugging Dorokhov?” he asked the TacOps guy.

  “That’s need to know,” Regan said apologetically.

  “I need to know,” Frazer argued.

  “Yeah.” Regan’s lips formed a smirk. “I’ll get back to you on that one.”

  “The Russians have a camera set up in that corridor.” Matt pointed out. Even blinded by Sarah LeMay’s seemingly innocent charm, he’d spotted it in the dim recesses. “Is it active?”

  Regan nodded. “When we went in, at night when the big wigs were elsewhere, we hacked into security and played a loop of the place in darkness. It was a piece of cake.”

  Sarah LeMay had uncanny observational skills. The woman had spotted where he usually wore his Budweiser—the SEAL Trident he’d earned by passing Basic Underwater Demolition/ SEAL training. He’d removed it because he hadn’t felt comfortable announcing his special operations background when entering enemy territory. Pity she hadn’t noticed the surveillance camera watching the hall. A real operator would have. So, what was she, if she wasn’t an operator?

  “She didn’t do any of that,” Frazer said quietly. “So it won’t be long before they figure out she was in there. Why would she want to bug Dorokhov?”

  “Blackmail? Or maybe she works for another agency or another country?” Regan suggested with a shrug.

  “Maybe it’s personal,” said Matt.

  “What was your impression of her?” Regan asked him, “Besides the obvious.”

  Matt slumped into an empty chair. “She seemed vulnerable. Shy. Uncomfortable.”

  “You try walking in high heels with a screwdriver in your panties and you’d be uncomfortable,” the tech joked.

  Matt laughed but inside he felt sick. Duped. “It wasn’t that.” Jeez, he was gonna sound like a pussy. “She seemed…fragile.” He shrugged. “Thinking about it, she seemed okay before she tried to plant the bug, but on the ride home she barely said a word except that she wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Not surprised. She fucked up and she knew it.” Regan’s tone held no pity.

  “She and her sister fought about something.” Probably her failed mission. That’s why they’d fled so fast, but Angel hadn’t wanted to leave…

  “You think the sister was a distraction?” Frazer asked.

  “Did you see those legs?” Regan snorted.

  Matt shook his head. “I don’t know. The only person I saw the sister speak to was some asshole called Raminski.”

  “We checked him out. He’s former military, probably GRU or SVR, acts as a PA to the ambassador and bodyguard if the occasion requires. He’s good at his job. Has a string of women he loves and leaves on a regular basis. Seems as kosher as any Russian in DC.” The assumption was that they all worked for Russian intelligence. It was simpler that way.

  “What’s Congressman LeMay’s connection to Dorokhov?” asked Matt.

  “We got nothing.” Regan threw up his arms.

  “He was invited, so there’s something,” Matt insisted.

  “Hey, Frazer was invited too.” Regan eyed the man in question. “What’s your connection?”

  “I’m a popular guy?” Frazer’s expression switched from joking to serious. “Dorokhov sent out dozens of invitations this year. I got the impression he was trawling the waters, trying to make a good impression and some connections. I asked our consultant Alex Parker to see if he could find anything for us between the ambassador and the congressman.” Alex Parker was former CIA and co-owned a cyber-security firm in DC. The man was also engaged to the newest member of their team at BAU-4, Mallory Rooney, and from what Matt could see, Frazer was taking full advantage of his expertise and connections.

  Whatever worked.

  “I heard Parker was good.” Regan looked as if he wanted to steal him for TacOps, but was too smart to say anything in front of Frazer. He’d already tried to recruit Matt for his skill set as a former Navy SEAL. Matt liked the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and they kept better hours than TacOps. It was a different sort of job and right now, it suited his needs.

  “Ah, shit.” The tech threw down his earpiece as the camera and bug both went dark.

  Jon Regan swore and turned off his headset. “Whatever LeMay was up to, she just ruined six months of painstaking surveillance work and our chances of getting anything up and running again for at least the next six.”

  Given the shit going on in the world right now, this wasn’t good news.

  “Not even Santa will be able to get in that place without a cavity search,” the tech remarked.

  “Can they track it back to us?” Matt asked, pointing at the video screens.

  “Nah. But the Chinese are about to get a lot of pissed off diplomatic calls.”

  Matt looked at the frozen image of Sarah LeMay, her skirt hitched high up her thigh. He had a feeling every guy in TacOps was going to get a look at that image by Christmas morning. The thought sent a shot of something dark and ugly through his bloodstream. Foolishness. Then he was struck by another thought, something much worse. “Not the Chinese.” Fuck. “If they found the earring, the first thing the Russians will do is check the surveillance footage from the hallway and go after that girl. And they know exactly where she lives…” His fatigue vanished and a sense of urgency had him on his feet and at the door. “We need to get back to DC ASAP.”

  * * *

  Gun in hand, Raminski entered the house through the garden doors off the patio at the rear of the property. The TV bleated in the distance. He checked the area before walking swiftly through the utility room, then the spotless kitchen, to the arched doorway. On the right of the hallway, there was a glass-paned door into the family room. A movie played loudly inside. The congressman and his wife were curled up on the couch, backs to the door. Good. He took the darkened stairs, moving silently, hearing another TV upstairs
.

  On the top floor, there were two doors. One open, lights turned off. He went inside, noted the room was empty. The dress the woman had been wearing earlier hung on the back of the door. He checked the bathroom. No one there.

  He went to the connecting door and eased it ajar. The hot blonde—Angel—lay across the bed on her front with her knees bent, feet waving in the air. She wore a short, silky nightgown and matching panties as she watched a movie. He ignored the effect she had on his body, and scanned the room. She was alone.

  Where was the other one? It was the other one he needed.

  No time to play games. He put his pistol in his holster and pulled the syringe out of his pocket, primed the needle. Two strides took him into the room. A knee across the shoulder blades pinned her down as he shoved her face into the mattress to muffle the screams while he jammed the needle into her ass and pressed the plunger home. He couldn’t afford for her to see his face. She struggled wildly, but it didn’t take long for the tranquilizer to work. Thirty seconds and she was out. He capped the needle and put the syringe back into his pocket. Searched the room but the woman was alone. He went to her drawers and dragged out yoga pants and a hoodie. Socks and a pair of sneakers. Dressed her, moving her limbs around like she was a rag doll. Found her cell phone and slipped it in his pocket. He hoisted her over his shoulder and retrieved his gun out of the holster as he headed back down the stairs. He paused on the second floor landing and stepped out of sight as someone flushed a toilet on the ground floor. He stayed still until the congressman returned to the family room. The guy didn’t close the door fully.

  The girl dangled loosely from his shoulder. He eased silently down the stairs. Kept his ears open and eyes on the living room door. The parents never looked away from their movie. His mouth twisted as he recognized the film they were watching. The only Angel getting any wings tonight was their daughter as he spirited her away.

  Out of the back door, along the garden path and through the garden gate in the wall that lined the street. The small sedan he’d stolen was still parked there. He opened the trunk and placed the girl carefully inside. He closed the trunk, climbed in the driver’s seat, and drove off.

  She wasn’t the one he wanted, but she was leverage. It wouldn’t take long to find the other one.

  * * *

  Scarlett decided to walk home rather than take a cab. This part of DC was generally safe and she needed some time and space to get her head together. A part of her knew it was foolish. Another part didn’t care. Tonight she’d tried to bug the Russian Ambassador. Everything else seemed irrelevant by comparison. The streets were quiet. Subdued. No one was paying her any attention. Everyone was gearing up for Christmas.

  She sank her hands deeper into her jacket pockets, touched another one of the transmitters she’d designed and built. Her sneakers scuffed quietly on the concrete sidewalk. Her breath created a frosty cloud that matched her mood. The snow from a few weeks ago had melted, turning to damp cold that seeped through skin and into marrow. Her teeth chattered. Right now, she didn’t think she’d ever be warm again.

  She and her mother had decided to split their trips to the prison to maximize the number of visits her father received during his treatment. Plus, her parents deserved some alone time—if being under constant observation counted as alone time. Scarlett could only imagine the pain of watching the person you loved stolen away from you by the very people who were supposed to have his back. It was bad enough losing her father—but losing the love of your life?

  Unbearable.

  A Christmas tree shone in someone’s living room window—multi-colored lights and a gold star on top. A deep, aching sadness washed through her.

  On a cold winter’s day fourteen years ago, her father had gone to work as usual, and never returned home. That afternoon the feds had banged on the door and searched their small, brick house from rafters to crawlspace. They’d ripped everything apart—including her trust and innocence.

  She’d been twelve.

  The press had turned a horrendous time into pure torture. They’d camped out on the front lawn. Cameras pointed at every window. Reporters digging through the trash.

  Going to school had proven impossible so her mother had home-schooled her. It had been the loneliest time of her life and she’d thrown herself into her studies. Most of their so-called friends had abandoned them. The only person to stand by her had been Angel. The two families had been close for years. Naturally, the congressman had distanced himself after her father’s arrest. Who could blame him? But Angel had always been there for her. Scarlett didn’t know what she’d have done without her.

  There had never been any doubt in the FBI’s mind that they had the right guy. The only people who’d believed him innocent were her and her mother. The lawyer had persuaded him to plead guilty to avoid the death penalty, which Scarlett was grateful for in terms of her dad not being executed, but it made proving him innocent a damn sight trickier.

  Her mom would have faded away years ago if it wasn’t for the fact Scarlett pushed her and prodded her to keep going, to not give up. It wasn’t easy, and if her father died, Scarlett didn’t think her mother would be far behind. Some days she already felt like an orphan.

  A guy in a hoodie walked toward her and an instinctive lick of fear snaked up her spine. Walking alone at night was the only time she wished she was a guy. She watched the man out of the corner of her eye, but he carried on past, not paying her any attention.

  Two minutes later, she got to the place where she was housesitting for her boss and let herself in. He was on sabbatical in Scotland until the end of next June. They worked at the cutting edge of technology that controlled how devices communicated with one another—like the fridge telling the Internet it ran out of eggs. Scarlett was tackling vulnerabilities that allowed another device to hijack the system and enable it to start typing malicious code. USB connections were particularly vulnerable. In some ways the research was mundane, in others it was the key to the future of all secure communication.

  When housesitting, all she had to do was water her boss’s plants and screen his mail for anything important. In the lab, she was also in charge of his grad students and putting out any metaphorical fires. She loved being his Research Fellow and she especially loved it when he wasn’t there. Maximum freedom. Minimum interference. It made building and testing her own electronic bugging devices so much easier.

  She looked around. It was a gorgeous house in a nice neighborhood, but its silence suddenly struck her as empty. Lonely. Cold. Desolate.

  Like her life.

  Most of the time she was okay being on her own, preferred it even, but sometimes, just sometimes, she yearned for basic human companionship. Matt Lazlo’s face flashed through her mind. There had been something in his eyes. Maybe not anything real or lasting, but definite interest, which would have kept the cold loneliness at bay for at least one night.

  It had been an illusion, though. He’d been looking at glamorous Sarah LeMay, not plain boring Scarlett Wilson Stone, daughter of the most notorious spy since the end of the Cold War.

  Her cell phone rang. She didn’t want to answer, but it was Angel calling. “What’s up?”

  “If you want to see your friend alive, meet me in the parking lot at Rock Creek Park Trails in thirty minutes, north end of Virginia Avenue. Come alone.” The accent was thick Russian. “Do not contact the police.”

  The phone went dead. No. She stood there swaying as the world shifted off its axis. They had Angel. The Russians had figured out what she’d tried to do tonight, and her friend was paying the price.

  * * *

  Raminski sat in the car in a parking lot on New Hampshire Ave. He dialed Dorokhov on an encrypted phone.

  “Did you get her?”

  “She wasn’t at the house so I took the other girl who was with her earlier. I found out something interesting.” He stared at the contact list on Angel LeMay’s smartphone, complete with profile photographs. “The gi
rl who broke into your office is not who she said she was. She isn’t LeMay’s other daughter.”

  “Who is she?” Dorokhov demanded.

  He waited a second. “Richard Stone’s daughter.”

  Malevolence seeped through the night air, thick and pervasive.

  “What do you want me to do about her?” More silence. Raminski waited for orders.

  “Kill her.” Soft. Quiet.

  Interesting. “And the congressman’s daughter?”

  There was another hesitation, this one rife with calculation. “Keep her somewhere safe. I want to talk to her.”

  “That could prove risky.” In too many ways to mention.

  “Do it.” Dorokhov hung up.

  The man started his engine. He called a second number and told the other man the same thing he’d told the ambassador. Interestingly the orders were identical. Richard Stone’s daughter died tonight.

  Chapter Four

  Matt walked up the steps of the row house where he’d dropped the women earlier, put his finger on the buzzer, and kept it there until he heard footsteps. He’d rather fast-rope onto the roof from a helicopter and break in via an upstairs window than play the lovesick fool.

  Congressman Adam LeMay opened the door, thankfully not yet retired to bed. His brows scrunched together and then his gaze dropped down Matt’s borrowed black t-shirt, fatigues, and combat boots.

  “Congressman LeMay. My name is Matt Lazlo. I need to speak to your daughters, sir.”

  The man’s brows stretched high and wide. He opened his mouth to answer, but someone interrupted.

  “Who is it, Adam?” The door opened wider to reveal a woman in her fifties with dark hair and a rounded figure. Her mouth was downcast, clearly expecting bad news from a caller this late at night.

  A black SUV with tinted windows idled at the curb. They’d picked up Alex Parker and Mallory Rooney from Parker’s DC apartment. They were now inside the car, setting up electronic wire taps on the LeMays’ cell phones and landlines to see if they could get a handle on what the women had been up to, and who they might be working with. Frazer had called in a personal favor and got a warrant signed by a federal judge, who also happened to be Agent Rooney’s father.